#so i totally feel your sentiment!!

[onyourstageleft]

I absolutely love that you found this post from 2017 bc although it has been 8 years since I made it (how?!) it is still a mood. I first discovered Tamora Pierce when I was in late elementary school, I genuinely don't even remember which book was my first read (I think maybe Kel's series?) but I know I picked them up at the library, my dad bought me Alanna's quartet on ebay, and before I knew it I was in deep. the local librarian printed a list of all of Tammy's books for me and I hung it on my bedroom wall and marked them off as I read them, highlighting the ones that I had my own physical copies of from the local used bookstore (the owner had my number on file and knew to call me if she got any Pierce books in so I could have first dibs on any copies before she put them on the shelf). I still don't have all the books in physical copy, but I was reading a lot on my Nook at the time, so I have all of them in ebook format - I like finding the print books at used bookstores rather than ordering them, it's like a scavenger hunt

literally anyone who knows me on a personal level has heard me talk about Tortall books. I have read the first Circle of Magic series but even though I have copies of some of the follow-up books, I haven't actually read them, not entirely sure why either bc I do love that series too, I guess I just didn't discover them during the exact right time, I just imprinted on Tortall at the age of like 10 and never looked back (27 now and still going strong)

the person that I made this post about was someone I worked with over a summer theatre carpentry job and I mentioned Tamora Pierce and when she said that she had read some of the books, I genuinely started gushing and asking questions, and she got kinda tired of it real fast. in the meantime I have taken matters into my own hands and converted people to talk to about Tortall - I read my mom Alanna and Aly's series like a decade ago, and last year I started reading them to my husband - I read my husband Aly's series first (as much as I love Alanna I know that her books wouldn't have been a great place for him to start in the world) and now we're reading Alanna's series, we're on book 2 right after her fight with Alex and he's been pointing out the slightly questionable things in the series (George's first kiss for example) and I keep telling him to just wait, it does get a little worse before it gets better, but that's just part of the charm of them for me at this point. my other partner is also reading the books, although she prefers to read them on her own rather than having me as her personal audiobook narrator, and she's just finishing up Alanna's book 3 - she's reading them in chronological series order (minus Beka, bc I honestly think that her books are better appreciated after reading the others despite being technically a prequel) and we've talked some about her thoughts, but not as much as I'd want to bc I'm trying to avoid spoiling other future things for her

oh I also literally wrote my MA thesis about Tortall (Cultures & Colonization in Tamora Pierce's Young Adult Novels, and it is indeed public access if you wanna read about me going on about Tortall in an academic fashion for 40+ pages) so I am in DEEP. I think my main problem is that I sometimes have a hard time (even with people online) figuring out what to talk about. like other than listing the things I love about the series, I'm not that great at making observations and connections, so it's easier for me to follow along with other people's theories and ideas and bounce off of them rather than creating my own stuff (although I would like to practice actually theorizing of my own accord)

I have recently been deep in fanfic, I'm not sure how much Tortall fic you've read but the fandom has been popping off in recent years with some absolutely stellar writing if you need to feel more feelings about it. I'm glad to hear that you love Beka too, I think that sometimes her series can be underappreciated (and underrepresented in fandom spaces) just because she doesn't have that in-world overlap that the other characters benefit from - we get to see Alanna from the beginning of knighthood all the way to motherhood and beyond in the background of other stories, but for Beka all we have is Beka's series. she's definitely my comfort character though, I have the audiobooks of her series (the narrator of it is absolutely phenomenal) and I relisten to them almost yearly. if I ever try my hand at fanfic I would love to write a Beka fic, but I really struggle with writing dialogue, so I've never actually tried beyond having Ideas

I just realized exactly how long I've made this reply and I apologize for writing an absolute essay, I thought "let me pull out my laptop it will be easier to type on than my phone" and then didn't stop typing. also, happy early birthday!!

I want to make more friends who have read Tamora Pierce books bc my one irl friend who I just met recently who has read them I think is already tired of me talking about them.

pls message me if you’ve read any Tamora Pierce book I will love you forever

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[imminent-danger-came]

Part of me, deep deep down, wonders if we still may have a scene of MK on his knees versus his friends a la 4x07

[spacedlexi]

i Need to draw more clemviminnie shit but how am i supposed to do that when minnie only exists alongside them for 2 episodes then dies

[toonbly]

honestly i have a really have a hard time looking at my old vrai stuff. but going through old stuff for grtv fills me with absolute delight, its been so long but i still hold so much love for this story and the people who followed it

[hersweetrevenge]

i love the way corey talks and idc i'm making a whole ass post about it. disclaimer: i am in no way a language expert, so i can't say anything super poignant, but that's not going to stop me. all thoughts discussed to death with @slutforstabbings, who also coined the term "coreyism" which i now use with reckless abandon lol

corey has a pretty distinct speech pattern (which i am fighting for my life at all times to replicate while writing) and unusual ways of wording things.

corey's most frequent coreyism (in both movie and novel canon) is his really consistent habit of either repeating what he's saying multiple times, or repeating what other people say to him.

repeating himself

when he repeats himself, it kind of feels like he's trying to fill dead air (which makes sense because when he does this it's usually in a situation where he's nervous). he asks allyson about the halloween party like three times in one breath, "how many people you think will be there? think there will be many people there or not that many people there?"

but there are times when it almost feels like he's workshopping as he talks, trying different phrases until he settles on "the right one". when joan asks about his hand, corey says "He said it's gonna be fine, Momma. He said that you don't need to worry, and he said it would be terrific is what he said." corey basically expresses the same sentiment three times but worded different, until he settles on the best, most affirmative version -- "it would be terrific". he also adds the phrase "he said", or a variation of it, four different times. this feeds into his tendency to quote others too, it's like a reassurance to not only joan but to himself that those aren't his words (even though i have a strong feeling he is partly making it up in this instance, just to placate joan's questioning).

repeating others

now we come to his other habit of repeating things from other people. he either quotes verbatim or parrots phrases he's heard recently. in pretty much all of these examples, it mostly just seems like he has good recall and conversational memory, so "pre-made" phrases are easier to use to make his point than trying to word it himself.

in the novel, laurie tells him to "watch out for assholes... they're contagious", then he repeats the that sentiment twice later on -- once to allyson about dr. mathis (in the novel), and once to terry (both in the novel and the movie, even though the movie misses the setup line), "you just act like an asshole 'cause your father treats you like one, it's contagious, right?" it sounds more like a direct quote when he says it to allyson, and laurie had more recently said it to him, but with terry i doubt corey considers it a true quote, more that he's sort of adopted it as a convenient phrase for his lexicon.

at the allen house, he argues with laurie, "And he said to me, 'I hope you find love'. And I found it... you're the one to blame. 'Cause you go, 'you wanna do it, or you want me to?'" he repeats ronald and laurie here, recalling past conversations (verbatim) to make his point for him. i see him as someone who will remember conversations he had months ago and can bring it up easily when he either needs to remind someone of something or when he needs to "prove" something. [he does this in chapter eleven of @/slutforstabbings' fic, clean again, where he recalls a pretty specific conversation from weeks prior.]

[maulfucker]

listened to a song and it blasted me with anidala vibes so hard I might have to do something about it

[charlott2n]

It just sucks so bad. 21, the age at which i realized i was trans, isnt at all "too late" to realize, but it sucks so bad what our society, what the institution of transphobia, gets away with. The lie it forced on me for so long. I feel like i had so many moments when i could have easily realized i was trans as far back as about five years old when i saw something on the news about a trans girl and at the same time i was having thoughts like "What if reincarnation was real but you had to be a boy every time and could never be born as a girl?? Wouldnt that suuuuuck???", but they want you to think it could never be you. And it worked on me!!! Between my family and our society, i was conditioned to think that while it was totally Okay for somebody to be trans, it could Never be me, and i shouldnt even think about it unless i was 100% sure since birth- which, on some level, i believe i even was! But what they Want you to believe is that all trans people know without a doubt that theyre trans from birth, a lie which suppresses so many transgender people out of ever being happy. When i was in my teens i even had two friends who came out as transfem, and i was really happy for them, but even more, i was jealous. I wished i could be trans so that i could be as happy as they were! I wished i could experience that! But it just never clicked for me that i could easily have that just as easily as them. It was all about overcoming this feeling that society instills in you, that it could never be you. And the fact that even well meaning people perpetuate these sentiments is appalling. When my dad was accepting of me but also made sure to ask me How Sure I Was, he was himself a microcosm of what society worries itself with foremost- Are You Sure You're Trans? Have you wrung out every other possibility? Are you sure youll make it? They busy you with doubts and fears, because ultimately they of course want to dupe you out of it. They express possibly genuine and well meaning concern for your wellbeing and happiness without letting you make up your own mind. Railroading you into the mindset that if it was You, you would have realized long ago.

[mad-hunts]

after everything was said and done with the administration of jervis's medicine, jack squinted his eyes as he tried to tune into any possible sound from outside the back room. i guess one could say that it always made him a bit anxious when things were quiet. but it was rather incomparable to the sense of nervousness in the air around the farceur (as his family liked to call him) when his father was concerned. a shallow breath left jack's lips, then, as he heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps in the kitchenlike area next to them.

so maybe the two of them would end up having a visitor sooner rather than later. jack just hoped that things wouldn't suddenly turn awry for jervis anytime soon, as he seemed to already have been through enough. the man did appear to pretty much be bone tired. from what he'd learned from matilda and the news, the scene that they'd left behind for the police was a brutal one; so jack thought he could see why jervis was feeling not only physically fatigued but mentally as well.

i mean, all the restlessness he'd been feeling over not knowing how his father was doing before, which caused him to pace for a long time? it had settled into a quiet ache all throughout jack's body that was tolerable but still uncomfortable. now that he thought about it... there were discrepancies between how long he allowed himself to feel things, he thought. and therefore the way jack described how he dealt with it might've been an oversimplification of things. but having grown up in an environment where his physical needs were more consistently met compared to his emotional ones, he found that his coping methods didn't always work that well.

so jack knew he'd have to really hammer the point home that what happened wasn't his fault as guilt started to plague him once more. the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he'd heard the tremble in jervis's voice, like he was on the verge of collapse; the reason being that the man only had memories to hold onto now as evidence that someone he knew had lived. it was unfair. jack recalled barton talking about death as it was a living, breathing entity once, and saying that it wasn't right that people were allotted a limited time on earth... because regardless of the number of years he'd spent with marcy, it'd never be enough.

❝ but it makes you feel better to think that your wife can hear you? then, i say you should keep on doing it. ❞ short and sweet. jack thought it'd be best to be as direct as possible with jervis, since grief was kind of a funny thing. it demanded to be felt but dwelling on it for too long was like dooming your internal self to try digging itself even further down than rock-bottom. jack tapped on his bottom lip as he tried to think of something that would be good for jervis to eat, ❝ you know, there's some eggs in the fridge and i think i might've also saw some toast. so i could make you some breakfast for dinner. i know it helped me feel better when i was sick in the past as that was my dad's go-to meal for me. ❞

jack simply nodded in response to what jervis had said, now planning on just doing a quick reading for the other. that is if he planned on accepting his offer. a faint smile tugged at jack's lips at jervis's continued talking of sylvie, ❝ ahh, so she was truly like your 'other half,' huh? the one person who accepted every part of you. the good, and the bad. that's great. my boyfriend, colin, likes to keep me on my toes. in a good way though. he's fun... and i think having someone in your life who challenges you makes it richer, in my opinion. ❞ a soft 'okay' left jack's mouth then, before he'd heard an actually gentle clearing of a throat come from the doorway.

it was barton. whom didn't actually seem to be in bad spirits, though he then said, ❝ hey, citrouille (pumpkin), would you mind stepping out for a minute? i've got to talk to jervis, ❞ jack looked from jervis to his father before getting up a bit hesitantly. barton patted the other on the shoulder casually as jack passed by him, before he held his phone up for jervis to see. ❝ i just got an interesting phone call i thought you might like to hear about. ❞

Jervis exhaled slowly, eyes closed, as Jack adjusted the IV. The medication’s fog settled in, softening the pain that gripped him like an old, familiar vice. It had been years since Ireland—since that ambush on the outskirts of Belfast where shrapnel tore through his body and a bullet ripped his shoulder apart—but the pain never truly left.

The soft beat of his heart echoed in his ears, like the sound of waves captured in a seashell.

That night came back in flashes: the patrol, the sudden blast, the chaos of shouts and gunfire. He’d felt the bullet before he saw the blood, the med kit slipping from his grasp as he hit the ground. Even now, the memories flared whenever the pain spiked. His leg still burned, the shrapnel scars pulling tight whenever he moved too much. He was lucky to have kept the leg at all, but each step served as a reminder. Swimming helped—briefly—until gravity brought the ache crashing back.

The abdominal shrapnel left more than scars. His stomach never healed right. Certain foods sent him into spasms so violent he felt betrayed by his own body. It wasn’t as sharp as it had been in the early years, but the dull throb would build after meals, making digestion a slow, grinding process. Sometimes it felt like the very muscles around the scars were stitched too tight, causing a lingering ache that radiated up his torso and made it hard to sit or lie down comfortably.

Jack’s voice cut through the haze as he spoke about family, about life’s value. The words didn’t quite land, though Jervis appreciated the attempt. Sympathy often felt hollow to him, but Jack’s quiet sincerity made him pause. He cracked his eyes open, watching Jack’s distant gaze as he mentioned his brother. There was a connection there—shared loss, carried in silence.

Jervis knew that weight all too well.

“Grief,” he murmured, “it’s like living in two worlds at once. The one where they were… and the one without them.” His voice trembled slightly, and he let out a shaky breath. “Talking to them… I get that. I talk to Sylvie sometimes. Or at least, I think I do. Maybe it’s just talking to myself, but…” He trailed off, unsure how to explain the comfort he found in those moments of silent conversation with someone who was long gone. He’d learned to manage the physical pain. It was the emotional weight of his wounds that lingered, the sense that no matter how many battles he survived, something inside him had long since broken.

Jack tried to steer the conversation back to food, and Jervis was almost grateful for the distraction, giving a faint chuckle, even though he hadn’t been interested in eating for years. Hunger became secondary when grief coiled around his insides, twisting them until nothing seemed appetizing, or else the urge was drowned out by the weight of everything else.

“You might be right about that. I guess I’ve been… neglecting the basics.” And as if on cue, his stomach growled. Small wonder. The few bites of soup and falooda he’d taken were long gone, and the tea shimmered patiently from where it sat next to Alice's rabbit. At the mention of Sylvie, something in his expression changed.

“We were together for five years, overall,” Jervis said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dated for two, married for three before she…” His throat tightened. He didn’t need to finish. Jack’s face showed enough understanding.

He watched Jack shuffle the tarot deck with quiet grace, the cards fanning out in front of him. It reminded him of Sylvie, of how she always found peace in things that required patience. The young man’s light-hearted tone gave the conversation a strange sense of normalcy, and for a moment, Jervis could almost pretend he wasn’t lying in a cot in a warehouse somewhere in the middle of Gotham with more scars than he cared to count and blood on his hands. It was easier this way—talking about food, about Lewis Carroll, about memories that didn’t cut quite so deep.

“I knew her better than I knew myself, in some ways,” he continued, voice low. “She saw through the walls, through the distance I tried to keep from the world. She challenged me without ever making me feel small.” A weak smile flickered across his lips.

When Jack offered the tarot reading, Jervis hesitated. He didn’t believe in that sort of thing nowadays, not really; not like he once had as a child watching his mother mediate her stress and anxieties through their daily walks and I Ching, but something about the offer made him nod.

“Sure,” he said, shifting again as the scars tugged at him. “Might be a little enlightening.”

[emmyrosee]

Keiji is absolutely nothing if not an attentive, knowing husband.

He’s good, he’s good at the whole marriage thing, knowing what makes you tic and what makes you purr, your anniversaries and outings and just being an absolute maniac when it comes to knowing all about you.

So imagine your complete, your total, your absolute horrific discovery to find out that today, he’s not home.

There’s no flowers, no note, no chaotic breakfast that Mei insisted on making you with Keiji- she claims today is her favorite holiday- and there’s nothing.

Not one of those things, on this birthday of yours.

To be honest, you don’t really mind, he’s one for… however many years you’ve known him, he was bound to forget it at some point (you certainly know you’ve had a few close calls), it just feels strange to have a birthday just with you and not your loving husband or eager daughter.

You stretch, yawn and slowly get out of bed, making your way to the kitchen to prepare for your day off, eager to spend some time alone and not have to worry about anything until you pick up your four year old.

Who is just as surprised as you at Keiji’s forgetting. Who takes a vendetta against Keiji for forgetting.

“You mean daddy didn’t take care of you today?” She says sadly. “That’s not nice of him…”

You giggle, “it’s okay, it’s just one day, yeah?”

“But!” She whines. “I made you a card! ‘Nd we should have a cake! And a birffday party!”

You shrug as you continue to strap her in, “well, sometimes, things don’t exactly pan out like we’d expect them to. And that’s okay! Besides,” you take out your credit card and flash it to Mei, “now we can have a girls day, yeah? Brag to daddy all about it.”

She beams up at you, and you finish buckling her into her seat.

Nails have been painted, delicious pastries for dessert have been picked, a cake to be baked and decorated has been prettied up, and now, all you can do is wait for Keiji to come home and witness all the fun he’d missed today.

Sure enough, 15:34 rolls around, and Keiji comes through the door, sleepy smile on his face and jacket shrugging off of his shoulders. “Hey, my girls.”

“Hey,” you hum, making your way over to him. You toss your arms around his neck and pucker your lips out for a kiss, which he tenderly returns. “How was work?”

“Exhausting,” he says with a small whine. “So glad to be home with the two loves of my life.” He smiles and kisses you again, only to then make eye contact with his daughter, who eyes him in a scold. He crouches down and reaches out to pinch her cheeks, only for her to dodge him slightly.

“And how’s my favorite little-“

“Hmph!”

Immediately, Keiji is cut off by the sound of your four year old’s disapproval, and he watches with a displeased furrow as she stomps her foot with crossed arms and turns away from him. His jaw is slacked, at the mercy of Mei and your attempts to not cackle out loud.

His eyes, filled with incredulous confusion flick back up to you in search for your assistance in correcting her attitude, but you say nothing. Instead, you place your hands on your hips and look down your nose at him.

He straightened his back and took a deep inhale for patience, “excuse me?”

“I said:” once again, Mei stomps her foot and crosses her arms tighter over her tiny chest, “hmph!”

“Have i upset you, Mei?” He asks, crouching lower to try and get her to open up to him. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“You should know,” she snips.

God she’s so cute, you could just bite her.

Keiji, right now however, may disagree with that sentiment.

“I don’t think I like this attitude, little miss-“

“Not my fault you didn’t wish mommy happy birffday today!” Mei pouts, and instantly, Keiji’s brows shoot up, from anger to surprise. When he turns to look at you in confirmation, your expression turns from one of amusement, to faux anger to match Mei’s. His gaze softens, and he reaches his hands out to you for your affection.

“R…Really?”

“Really really,” you confirm. “I was super surprised our four year old and Koutarou remembered before you did.”

All the color drains from his face, and for a moment your expression softens as he looks like he’s about to faint right in front of you. “Kou…Koutarou remembered?”

“Honestly all of the Jackals did- Kiyoomi even sent me a card that’s due to come.” The detail, all though a little unnecessary, again makes him deflate, and even if your intentions are cruel, he looks so cute trying to grovel for forgiveness.

“Baby… my love… I’m so, so sorry-“

“You should be,” you huff, crossing your arms dramatically. “It’s a good thing I had Mei to keep me company all day, apparently she’s the only Akaashi who loves me.”

“Yeah!” Mei’s voice echos behind Keiji. It makes him snort and drop his head against your shoulder, palms smoothing up your hips and sides in an attempt to be affectionate, though the action only has you melting into his embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he hums from your neck, peppering soft kisses along the length. Your breath hitches and your own hands come up to rest on his own shoulders. “Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, giggling softly when he tenses up, then looking up it you in betrayal. “I want ramen. I want ice cream and chips, and I want to watch classic Disney movies as a family, and I want to do those cute panda face masks Mei got us for our anniversary with Koutarou.”

“Okay… okay I can do that; what kind of chips?”

“All of them.”

“You got it.” With that, Keiji kisses your cheek and quickly turns on his heal to head back out to the corner store to stock up on everything you asked for.

“Mommy?” Mei asks, tugging your pant leg.

“What baby?”

“Are you mad at daddy?”

You smile and ruffle her hair, bending down to pick her up and help you set up the rest of your birthday wishes.

“Couldn’t be mad at daddy even if I wanted to be.”

[eyeheartboobiez]

nicknames that bruce + the batboys would call you

warnings: sexual themes in jason’s part, fem!reader a/n: just sumn slight. enjoy😁

⁎⁺˳ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 ミ

❀ bruce grew up wealthy so he would definitely call you something more on the classy side

❀ things like darling, angel, dear, my love, etc.

❀ he also has a habit of referring to you as “my wife” (because he’s possessive asf)

❀ “sorry guys, i really can’t stay for another drink. i’ve got to get back to my wife.”

❀ “you said these shoes were dior? oh, im sure my wife would love these.”

❀ on the flip side, he also really likes referring to himself as your husband (one might say he does it for the ego boost)

❀ like whenever you too are meeting someone for the first time, he'll introduce you first and then only introduce himself as "your husband"

❀ because why should someone care about him, a mega rich billionaire, when his lovely and radiant wife is standing right next to him?

⁎⁺˳ 𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓀 ミ

❀ dick would definitely be the type to call you something super lovey-dovey and over the top

❀ sugarplum, honey bunches, buttercup, (and if he really wants to get on your nerves,) shnookums

❀ he knows it’s lame, but he genuinely doesn’t care

❀ since his love language is acts of service, you tend to hear a lot of "let me get that for ya, honeybun"

❀ or something like “hey sugarplum! im on my way home from work, you want me to pick up anything?”

❀ or even "don't worry about dinner honeylove, lemme take care of things tonight."

❀ regardless of how annoying it is, you can't help but love his teasing nicknames for you

❀ like you two are that annoying couple that everyone loves can't stand seeing at the function (i know valentine's day hatesss to see yall coming)

❀ off topic but if the two of you had a kid together, i imagine him nicknaming your daughter ‘love bug’ (AWWW)

⁎⁺˳ 𝒿𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 ミ

❀ despite his thick exterior, jason’s a lover boy at heart

❀ he’d call you stuff like babe, doll, sweetheart, hon, y’know all that cheesy stuff

❀ most importantly though, this boy lovesss to call you mama

❀ like for example, he usually likes to greet you with a casual "hey mama, you doin okay?" followed by a quick peck on the check

❀ or if you're being goofy trying to get him to feel better, he'll probably say something like "c'mon mama, cut it out" as a smile inevitably blossoms on his face

❀ alongside this, he also has a weird kink thing for calling himself papa

❀ either “thatsss it sweetheart, come to papa” or “let papa bear handle it, ‘kay? you just sit down there and look pretty f’me.”

❀ you have absolutely no idea where he got it from because jason swears up and down that he's never done it until he got in a relationship with you

⁎⁺˳ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 ミ

❀ while tim is such a sweetheart, so his pet names for you would most definitely reflect that

❀ sweets, pretty, baby love, cutie; simple stuff like that

❀ also, let’s not forget that this boy is a certified LEWSER, so that also shows within you guys’ relationship

❀ he sometimes calls you pookie (he’s chronically online…)

❀ he'd probably be up texting you at 2am (because why wouldn’t be be up at that time) and is like “hey pooks u wanna check out this new italian place i found? i saw that they serve a few of ur faves”

❀ he also has a nasty habit of referring to you as dude or bro

❀ you'll often get random tiktoks from him throughout the day like "bro look this is totally us" or "me & u fr🥹"

❀ sure it's corny but the sentiment is sweet so you don't really mind

❀ a lot of people think the relationship you both have may be a bit odd, but neither of you care (and that's all that matters <3)

[mistyorchid]

Logan's Girl

Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

summary: A sentimental anniversary gift for Logan reveals your biggest insecurity—saying three vulnerable words. inspired by this ask :) warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, fluff, some suggestive elements (gets a little steamy you guyss), established relationship, age gap, reader is 21+, insecure!reader, pet names (baby, darlin', bub, doll), I'm a hopeless romantic. wc: 1.8k

This wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The figure swathed in delicate lingerie has to be a figment of your imagination, a misty apparition in the mirror. Surely, you were staring back at a different woman’s face. You wanted to wrap yourself in something sheer, something to heighten the overwhelming feeling of sensuality that you had learned to love and trust.

It was unbearable to watch him leave the warm oasis of your bed every night. “‘M sorry, baby. Gotta take this shift,” he sighed. He ghosted the words happy anniversary against your lips before pulling a velvet box from under the nightstand. Logan marveled at how your eyes shined just as bright as the pearlescent necklace.

You blush as you remember how his strong hands gently traced your collarbones before fastening the dainty jewelry around your neck. The romantic gesture made your heart swell with pride in being his.

He had been somewhat of a lone cowboy before you met; indulging in alcohol and one-night stands in dive bar bathrooms. You managed to rope him in and cement his life in something tangible. Every time you heard the iron door rattle against the smelting plant’s walls, you prayed to the night sky to protect him from harm.

Logan chastised your insistence on feeling so immensely—he often joked that your emotional sensitivity was a hallmark of “your generation,” a crack meant to be salved and fortified. He knew, however, that your concern for his mental well-being stemmed from a place of genuine concern.

It’s been four hours since Logan crossed the threshold of your home onto the organic gravel of the earth. An unbearable void in your heart that called for him to return is soured by an uneasy wave of dread stemming from your current predicament.

It looks like the Hallmark Channel rented your bedroom for an intoxicatingly sweet, PG-13 love scene. Although, your thoughts bordered on NC-17. The sap didn’t stop there. A fresh trail of rose petals was scattered on the floor, leading from the front door to a glossy, heart-shaped box of truffles on your bed.

Skittish tendrils of insecurity creep up your body until a surge of warmth festers behind your cheeks. In the time it took to pace a hundred laps around the bedroom, two more hours passed. A harsh clanging sound reverberates against your brain. You pray that it’s a figment of your imagination, a temporary symptom of your shame-induced anxiety.

Logan haphazardly kicks off his boots while loosening his tie. “I’m home, darlin’!”

Shit. You're totally fucked. That is the plan, but hearing Logan’s heavy steps against the linoleum floor sends you into an irrational frenzy. Your body reacts faster than your mind, quickly darting around the room to turn off the lights and dive under the comforter. “Great,” you whisper into the sheets. The room is pitch black except for the warm flicker of candles artfully placed on the nightstands. You wonder if Logan would find the dimly lit interior sexy or off putting. Surely, hiding under the covers like a goddamn vampire would get him rock hard.

He knocks to the tune of Shave and a haircut—two bits, a classic rhythm almost as old as him. Geriatric fucker.

“You decent?” he inquires. Two years together, and he still asks permission to open a closed door. He raised your standards for how a man should act from the depths of hell to the gates of heaven. He’s unbearably traditional sometimes, and you love it.

You wonder, then, why you regret the scent of lavender that lingers in the air. It’s a fragrant piece of evidence that smells too much like I love you. It was easy to lose yourself in the warm embrace of his body, molding yourself to his wandering hands. This display of romantic affection was too sappy, even for you.

“Yeah, come in,” you exhale before burrowing into the warmth of your bed. Maybe if you sink deep enough you’ll be swallowed whole.

Logan’s brows quirk upwards as he surveys the room, unable to identify the source of your voice. You know it’s time to face the music when he flicks the light on, illuminating everything.

His feet crunch softly against the petals strewn across the room, progressing towards the edge of the bed. Logan plops onto the comforter, knocking over the box of chocolates. He winces as he strains his back to retrieve it from the floor.

Logan gently peels the comforter away from your shrinking form. “What’cha doin’ under there, bub?”

You meet his eyes with a sheepish turn of your head, preparing for a judgmental gaze that would validate your insecurity. Instead, all you hear is a gruff laugh pour out of his mouth. 

“Hiding,” you reply meekly. His insistence on staring into the depths of your fucking soul is not helping. Goosebumps rise along your form as Logan slowly pulls down the rest of the blanket, finally revealing the sheer babydoll dress that clings to your breasts and floats everywhere else. 

Logan lets out a low whistle. “Jesus,” he whispers, “This for me?” 

You cross your arms over the lingerie. “Yeah, but I’m embarrassed—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he interrupts. Logan tugs on the end of the central ribbon until it loosens, revealing the tantalizing line of your cleavage. “Lady as lovely as you shouldn’t be embarrassed.” 

You’re quick to apologize. “I’m sorry. . .”

He stalls his hand as if he’s been burned. Your immediate reaction is to apologize again, but Logan silences you with an unabashedly needy kiss.

“Hush. I’m tryin’ to open my present.” He toys with the pearl looped around your neck, admiring how the smooth texture rolls between his calloused fingers. It serves as a familiar allusion to the duality your relationship provides—softness and raw grit intertwining to form an unbreakable union.

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling insecure under his shameless gaze. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” He drops the pearl charm and grazes your chest, smirking when he hears your breath hitch. It’s almost unsettling, how fast you unravel for him.

“How was work?” You inquire, hoping it convinces Logan to focus on your face instead of your exposed skin.

He hastily removes all of his clothes save for his boxers before tossing them onto the floor. “Same shit, different day,” he mutters. The days are long, the nights even longer. You never talked about the gruesome collage of wounds and overworked scar tissue that plagued his skin. Over time, he leaned into your healing presence, allowing himself to dissolve under the tender insistence of your care.

You giggle. “Miss me?”

Logan lovingly pats your hip with an outstretched palm—a familiar signal that he wants to take up prime real estate in your bed. The more, the merrier.

He shuffles under the covers and pulls your body parallel against his own. You shiver as his lips hover over the shell of your ear.

“‘Course I did,” Logan sighs. He draws comforting patterns along the length of your arm, effectively luring a subtle shudder from your parted lips.  “Heart’s poundin’, baby—You’re breathin’ awful fast. Gives me the impression this feelin’s mutual.”

The night is quiet, laced with an unspoken yearning. A wave of anxiety tells you to move, to seek shelter somewhere else, in someone else—an anonymous man who doesn’t know anything about you other than the fact that you’re a warm body. You bury yourself into Logan instead, feeding into the restlessness that radiates throughout your soul.

He hums into your neck. The sound is so domestic that your heart aches and blooms all over again.

Logan curses as he feels your hips subtly rock back into his sturdy frame. “I guess it is,” you agree. His palm caresses the strong curve of your jaw before turning your head towards him.

The hazel pools of his eyes have borrowed the depth of the night sky. He speaks in a reserved, yet ravenous tone.

“C’mon, darlin’. Gimme some sugar,” he mumbles against your lips. You comply, not because he ordered you to, but because his insistence washes away any feelings of doubt that sullied your mind.

An airy sigh echoes throughout the room, silently parting the air and ricocheting against Logan’s sensitive eardrums. He wraps his arm around your soft stomach, earning a faint whine. “Stop, Logan,” you plead. Cheesy anniversary gifts aside, one constant source of insecurity was your belly. Logan absolutely adored it, but you loathed the physical evidence of your sweet tooth.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says while shifting his warm palm to rest on your hip. “But don’tcha love it when you’re soft an’ I’m—” Logan pulls your ass flush against his noticeable bulge. “—hard?” He continues. You feel his smirk melt into the open expanse of your neck.

You allow yourself to be manhandled by Logan. It takes your breath away every time, cliche phrasing be damned. He uses his firm grip to turn you around until you’re face-to-face with his stupidly rugged . . . face. Ugh. You don’t know what’s come over you.

Logan’s warmth is all-encompassing. His hand wanders along your body before lightly caressing the back of your head to bring you further into his embrace. You let out a soft hum that vibrates against his chest.

A few minutes pass without any words at all. This is Logan’s comfort zone—intentional silence that gives him the space to communicate with action. The only difference now is that he indulges in quietude as a form of serenity rather than hostility.

“Hey . . .” he whispers. “You fallin’ asleep?” Each tender swipe of his hand flushes your cheeks.

“Mhm,” you affirm, faintly nodding. “I’m sorry, Logan. I really wanted to give you your present.”

He quickly kneads the tense folds of your furrowed brow. Logan exhales into the peak of your hairline. “Don’t worry, doll. ‘M tired too.”

You let out a sigh that’s deeper and more sustained than Logan’s. You don’t have to look down to know that he’s still hard. A tell-tale sign of his sensual pull towards you blooms behind his chest in a kinetic rhythm. He keeps you close, everywhere except near his bulge. What a gentleman. 

Your eyes open, quietly searching in the dark for the motivation to speak, to be faithful. As much as you adore Logan, you both find it difficult to verbalize your feelings.

“I love you . . .” you whisper, directed into the ceiling and stars beyond it instead of towards Logan. 

His palm finds your jaw again. He hovers inches away from your face, allowing your breaths to meet and interlace. An inaudible request to connect. 

The kiss is unbelievably earnest. You find shelter against the plush of Logan’s lips. He leans his forehead against yours, once again playing with the pearl necklace wrapped around your neck.

“I love you.”

You have matching smiles. The allure of rest is renewed once Logan lets out a loud yawn. Then, laughter fills the room.

The last thing you hear before succumbing to sleep is, “Happy anniversary, doll.”

His pet name for you is apt. Cared for, admired, cherished. 

Logan’s girl.

an: It's been a while. Thank you anon for sending in this lovely request. I decided to not include smut because I wanting to portray something a little more wholesome than usual. These are real lines of comic dialogue that also inspired me. "Lady as lovely as you shouldn’t ever frown." "Heart’s poundin’, Jeannie—You’re breathin’ awful fast. Gives me the impression this feelin’s mutual. Wanna bet?"

tag list: @bratscave @elflutter @fairiebabey @pointyxsole @scorpiosaintt @th3mrskory

[cherryredcheol]

passenger princess

tldr: just use your own car? tf? a/n: could be part two to this but does not have to be!

seungcheol looked up from his phone, “i’ll drive but we can’t take my car.” he was happy to drive across town if it meant he could go check out that cafe that had gone viral for their delicious pastries. he had someone in mind who might love a sweet treat…

seungkwan’s eyebrows shot up, “why not, hyung? is there something wrong with your car?” 

chan, who had been really trying to get anyone else to drive so he didn’t have to, swatted at seungkwan, and muttered under his breath, “shut up.”

seungcheol’s cheeks heated, a blush creeping it’s way across his face, embarrassed at seungkwan’s insinuation, “there’s nothing wrong with it. i just have kkuma’s stuff in there and it’s easier if i don’t have to move it.”

seungkwan rolled his eyes, “sure, hyung. that’s why.”

later, pastry procured and back in his car, seungcheol waited patiently in the parking lot of your office building for your shift to end. your little gasp upon seeing the primly decorated box made his mid-day errand totally worth it. 

“oh my gosh! cheollie, thank you so much. you really didn’t need to do this. i feel so bad you drove across town just for me.” your gratitude came out muffled around a mouthful of pastry but you’re sure he got the sentiment. 

he did, “well, the members were going and i offered to drive. you mentioned this cafe last week so i thought this was the perfect opportunity. besides baby, i’d drive all over the globe to make you happy.” 

you paused, “wait–”

seungcheol, who was in the middle of reversing out of the parking spot, stopped the car, “what’s wrong, baby? is everything okay?” 

you nodded, “yes, cheollie. everything is fine. keep driving.” 

he was relieved but confused, “okay…” 

the car started to move again, “if you drove, how come my seat isn’t all messed up?” 

seungcheol nodded, finally understanding, “i told them we couldn’t take my car because i had kkuma’s stuff. they always mess your seat up because it’s apparently in the perfect position to see my–”

“to see your dimples! yes!” you interrupted him, “and every time you drive someone else around they move my seat and it takes me forever to get things back just right.” you ended your speech with a little chef’s kiss to drive home your point. 

“i know, baby. and it makes you pouty so i drove a different car. just to protect your seat.” as he eased the car to a stop at a red light, he leaned over and kissed your cheek. 

you grabbed his face, not content with just a kiss on the cheek, you smashed your lips into his, really trying to convey your feeling, “you’re the best, cheollie.” 

“anything for you, baby.”

[m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e]

I know that I wasn't ready at the time and it's really unhelpful to just dwell on things you did in your past that you can't change, but man it's sometimes hard not to think about how much I regret just not having gone to a four-year university right after high school so I could finally get away from home and my current situation that was and still is making me miserable and then proceeding to fail my community college classes because I was depressed

[angy-grrr]

dont mind me. Im just here, thinking about the beginning of the manga with izuku being rude for example in the sports festival for insulting one of his classmates to create a parallel with katsuki, showing a complicated rivalry thru a similar attitude he would also get quite easily when he needs to defend others vs towards the end where its clear theres a separation between the anger he feels for others’ pain and the rage he has when its katsuki. And its not even about making him less or more angry -when he is pissed off, he is always really… animalistic? He “wants” to act in that kind of way, and we know about the difference because of him not being able to hold back.

Theres anger and pain and rage when shigAFO stabbed and hurt Gran Torino, Aizawa-sensei, and others. He barely is able to hold back. And then Kacchan gets both stabbed AND insulted as a worthless sacrifice?? Thats it, he is a wounded dog.

ppl will say bkdk it’s just another sns and that they would end with girls but have you thought about:

They are different mangas with different authors. They don’t have to end the same way at all -and knowing horikoshi disliked the ending, it makes even less sense.

It’s canon that Katsuki really, really dislikes attention from girls and doesn’t pay them any mind at all, to the point of not having even moments with any that could count as lazy romance. Who tf is he picking?

The popular ships in Japan according to polls when n*ruto was going on were exactly the ones that became canon as far as I know so even if in the west it made little sense for many, they were justified and liked my at least a big part of the Japanese audience.

All of the “you hurt my loved one and now I need to kill you” moments were exclusively with Katsuki being targeted (with this I mean he loses the ability to hold this back. With others he is able to at least maintain some sanity even if it hurts him personally); in n*ruto, as far as I know, there are moments like that with Sas*ke and Hin*ta being the targets making the protagonist lose control. The most similar situation was when Himiko stabbed Ochako in front of him and he was worried about leaving when there’s such an unpredictable character, but it was more about wanting to make sure she is okay. In Katsuki’s case, it always make him more rude and impatient + lose self control when things get too serious, going against his own ideals.